


Sky Full of Song

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys Kissing, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Mutual Pining, Queer Themes, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 08:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15553266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: Draco turns up at Harry's birthday party unexpectedly and Harry takes a leap of faith.





	Sky Full of Song

**Author's Note:**

> The word count shows slightly over 2,000 but that's because of the song lyrics at the start from Florence and the Machine's 'Sky Full of Song.' The fic itself is within the word limit! Happy Birthday Harry (belatedly). Thank you to Nox for hosting this brilliant little mini-fest.

_Grab me by my ankles_  
_I've been flying for too long_  
_I couldn't hide from the thunder_  
_In a sky full of song_

It’s the claustrophobic kind of warm that steals Harry’s breath from his lungs, even as he goes outside under the pretence of needing some fresh air. There’s nothing fresh about the muggy London summer. The air is thick with the promise of thunder and the cloying scent of stale beer from the bins fills the narrow alley behind the pub.

“Cigarette?” 

“I gave up.” Harry leans back against the wall, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He closes his eyes and wills the rain to come. He isn’t in the mood for summer. He wants the storm clouds that steal away the sunlight, desperate to feel cold rain on his cheeks. 

“You gave up a lot of things,” Malfoy replies. 

“Maybe.” It’s true, but Harry doesn’t want to say as much out loud. He watches as Malfoy lights a cigarette, using his wand. It’s so ostentatious, using magic when a Muggle lighter would do just as well. So perfectly, ridiculously _Malfoy_. Harry wonders what he’s doing here, after all this time.

Malfoy exhales, smoke curling into the air. “Busy this afternoon.”

“There’s a party,” Harry says. Malfoy looks decadent and expensive, far too crisp and composed given the sweltering heat of the day. Everything is starched, ironed and pristine. Malfoy’s probably using a spell to keep cool, too. Even Harry’s toes are too hot and a pool of sweat gathers at the base of his spine. 

“I know.” Malfoy looks away and Harry wonders how, when Malfoy wasn’t invited. He’s tempted to ask, but doesn’t. 

A strange need pulses through Harry and he pushes his glasses onto his nose. “Fine. I’ll have one.”

“A cigarette, or…” Malfoy trails off, his lips curving into a knowing smile. 

Heat rushes through Harry’s body, making everything even more clammy and uncomfortable. He rolls his eyes, refusing to let Malfoy rattle him. This isn’t their first dance, after all. “Cigarette.”

“Fine.” Malfoy glances at Harry and a flicker of something crosses his features. Disappointment? Anger? Harry doesn’t know anymore. Malfoy hands Harry a cigarette and fishes a Muggle lighter out of his pocket, holding it between pale, bony fingers that brush against Harry’s hot skin when he takes the lighter. Harry knew that bloody spell was just for show. Just Malfoy being impossible, as always. 

Harry lights the cigarette and takes a drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs. He hopes Molly doesn’t come out to look for him. She hates smoking. She would say that Harry didn’t go through everything he went through during the war just to smoke himself into an early grave. 

“I’m supposed to be inside.” Harry takes another pull on the cigarette and the taste takes him back to another time, making him dizzy. He doesn’t know if that’s the nicotine or the memories. Maybe it’s both. 

“It’s your party,” Malfoy says, in tacit agreement. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Yeah.” Harry casts at look at Malfoy. “You remembered?”

Malfoy snorts. “It’s all over the _Prophet_. You’re a _celebrity_ , Potter. Have you only just realised?”

“Fuck off.” Harry sighs and tips his head back against the wall. The blue sky has all but disappeared, replaced with thick, ominous clouds. He closes his eyes. “Looks like rain.”

“About time.” Malfoy sniffs and rustles in his pocket, presumably for another cigarette. There’s a pause and Harry rubs his forehead. The combination of beer and the humidity is giving him a headache. It gnaws away at the side of his temple, a niggling pain that’s been irritating him for days. “Is this what we do now?”

“What?” Harry opens his eyes and turns to Malfoy, his mouth dry. _Stop_ he wants to say. _Please don’t say it out loud_.

Malfoy shrugs. “I’m not sure when we started making small talk about the weather and when we stopped—” 

“—Don’t.” Harry puts out his cigarette and pushes himself off the wall.

“Oh.” Malfoy’s eyes glitter strangely and his lips tilt into a wry smile as he contemplates Harry. “Scared, Potter?”

Harry swallows. Yes, he’s scared. Not that he plans to say so out loud, with Malfoy looking so smug and superior. He bristles and clenches his jaw to stop himself from snapping back. “Not a bit.”

Malfoy doesn’t seem convinced. “I came here for the party. Weasley invited me. He said there would be champagne.” He pulls a face as if he doesn’t believe it for a second.

“Ron invited you?” Harry frowns at Malfoy, because that can’t be right. Ron hates Malfoy. He said as much to Harry plenty of times. It’s one of the reasons it all felt so impossible. The friends and family that hated everything the Malfoy family represented and the desperate realisation from comments Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon made that two men together was something _queer_ , something that could only exist in shadows. “Why?”

“I have no idea, darling.” Malfoy emphasises the endearment with his cultured drawl, until it doesn’t sound endearing in the slightest. “He’s your friend, not mine.” Malfoy extracts a carefully folded piece of parchment from his pocket and shoves it in Harry’s direction.

Harry’s heart quickens, and he takes the parchment from Malfoy. The messy scrawl is as familiar to Harry as his own handwriting. There’s no mistaking the hurried script or Ron’s blunt tone.

_Malfoy._

_We’re throwing a birthday party for Harry at the Three Broomsticks on Saturday from 3pm. Come along if you want. I thought he might have told me about you two by now, but he went out with Gwendoline Fortescue the other day. If we’re not careful he’s going to end up married, miserable and he might as well go back to that cupboard of his. The idiot is driving himself barmy with missing you. Can’t think why._

_Weasley_

_P.S. I still think you’re a twat._

“He didn’t say anything about champagne.” A warmth creeps through Harry’s veins. It’s different to the oppressive heat of summer. It’s a comforting tendril of hope; a rush of happiness he had almost forgotten how to feel.

“I made that bit up.” Malfoy takes the parchment from Harry and their fingers brush again, before Malfoy moves away. He looks pleased with himself. “You’ve been miserable.”

“You don’t have to sound so happy about it,” Harry mutters. He presses his lips together, not wanting to let everything spill out at once. His stomach swoops as it does when he twists his broom in the sky and begins to hurtle towards the ground. He hopes he can pull up before he crashes, and everything breaks apart. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, the possibility that he could finally start living. Properly _living_. 

“I’m bored of the shadows,” Malfoy says. He moves closer to Harry. “It was fun, for a while. I thought I was okay with being something you couldn’t say out loud.”

“It wasn’t fair of me to ask.” Harry takes a breath and he’s surprised by how rough and unsteady he sounds. He puts a tentative hand on Malfoy’s arm before the door opens with a clatter. Force of habit makes Harry pull away and he doesn’t miss the flash of hurt in Malfoy’s eyes, or the angry clench of his jaw. The noise from the pub spills out into the small space between them, which is suddenly insurmountable. 

“Oh. You came.” Ron looks at Malfoy then clears his throat, turning to Harry. “They sent me out to look for you. Mum thinks you’re smoking.”

“I’m not.” The lie rolls easily off his tongue, and Harry winces. _No more lies_. He gives Ron a sheepish smile. “Just the one.”

“I don’t care.” Ron shrugs. He leans in the doorway and folds his arms, his expression serious as he contemplates Harry. “You trusted me with Horcruxes, but not this?”

“Sorry.” Harry stares at Ron, his heart in his throat. The words he’s tried to say so many times, in so many half-drunk, desperate ways, tumble out of him. “I don’t think I’m very interested in witches.”

Ron’s eyes widen then he laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “No, mate. I don’t think you are either.” He nods in Malfoy’s direction, his eyes warm as they meet Harry’s. “Terrible taste in blokes, though.”

“I’m actually _right here_ , Weasley.” Malfoy huffs with aggravation. “Idiot.”

Harry glances at Malfoy, so prim and proper, with his highly polished shoes and not a hair out of place. He looks almost too buttoned up, as if he had to put on a kind of well-tailored armour just to come to the pub. The thought makes Harry strangely defensive and he shoots Malfoy a grin, his heart giving a reckless leap. “Not that terrible.”

“Charmed.” Despite the sarcasm Malfoy looks pleased, a faint smile on his lips. 

“Whatever you say.” Ron looks between Malfoy and Harry. “They’ll be cutting the cake soon. Don’t take too long, yeah?” Ron glances at Malfoy. “I’ll let them know you’re here.” Harry knows that’s Ron’s way of saying _I’ll make sure they don’t give you shit_ , and he suspects Malfoy knows it too.

“I didn’t think what it might be like for you to come here,” Harry says. The door closes and the noise from the pub disappears.

“Ah, yes.” Malfoy studies his fingernails. “I’m not sure I would have gone into the lion’s den. I was trying to decide if you’re worth it when I saw you skulking around outside.”

“Have you decided?” Harry asks.

Malfoy narrows his eyes. “I honestly have no idea, Potter.”

Harry wipes the palms of his hands on his jeans. Everything is clammy, sticky and too hot. He extends his hand to Malfoy who gives it a suspicious look. “My name’s Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Why are you always so bloody annoying?”

“Force of habit?” Harry tries not to shake with the overwhelming force of everything that’s built up inside of him finally being released. “I thought we could start again.”

“ _Fine_.” Malfoy’s tongue flicks over his lips and he holds Harry’s gaze as he takes his hand, and squeezes. “Draco Malfoy. I’ve heard all about you, of course. You’re a pillock, by all accounts.”

Harry snorts and tightens his grip on Malfoy’s hand. “I deserve that.”

“You do,” Malfoy agrees. He shifts closer to Harry, pushing him back against the wall non-too gently. “You’re also gay, Potter. No matter how much you try to fight it.”

“War’s over,” Harry says. There’s a lightness he doesn’t quite feel in his voice, but he wants it to be true. He’s so sick of fighting. So tired of the lies. 

“It’s been over for a long time,” Malfoy replies. It’s true, in a way. It was that first, heady kiss that started it all. The kisses that tasted like rum and coke, the perspiration on Harry’s skin and the relentless beat of the music that masked the pounding of Harry’s heart. Malfoy knows about that, too. He knows about everything.

The shadows gather around them as the sky darkens under the weight of the incoming storm clouds. Thunder claps and lightning pops and crackles through the air, the electricity easing some of the tension as the wind picks up around them. The first fat droplets of cold rain land on their faces and Harry finally closes the distance between them. Their mouths meet as the heavens open and the first proper rain of the summer peppers them as they kiss. It’s exhilarating, freeing and dizzying. Draco’s kisses are as rough and demanding as they’ve ever been. The air cools as the sticky heat eases, but Harry’s never felt so perfectly warm.

“There’s cake.” Harry breaks away, breathless. “Chocolate, I think.”

“I like cake.” Draco tips his head back, letting the rain fall on his face. After a moment he pushes a damp hand through his hair which somehow falls back into place. “Lead the way.”

Harry takes Draco’s hand and opens the door.


End file.
